Cold
by Mlle. Verity
Summary: Courfeyrac reflects on his past life. Wrote it because I don't like him.


This is my lame attempt at a Courfeyrac. Any and all criticism (even flames) is welcome.  
  
I don't want to leave the fire, so warm and comforting it provides me with hope and light. They would never think of me as needing warmth and comforting. It's always Courfeyrac the gay, Courfeyrac the bold -- never Luc the faltering one, or the frightened.  
  
That's what I am inside though. A little boy whose father is dead and whose Mother can't provide him with any of the comfort she is in so much need of for herself. "Luc," she would say, "you must grow up fast and take care of your little mother." She married a short year after my father's death. I, an awkward and gangly youth of fourteen, had to walk her down the aisle and give her away to a man whom I disliked and distrusted.  
  
Too soon, my suspicions were proved correct. He was a fortune hunter, a womanizer and, as I found to my pain upon trying to confront him about his mistress, an abusive wretch.  
  
He lunged towards me with a crystal vase and flung it at me. I ducked and it hit my shoulder, causing my arm to go numb, then shattered on the floor. His next missile was a small chair. It struck me in the stomach, knocking the breath out of me and hurling me to the floor.  
  
I don't know why I did it, or where I found the courage but I snatched a half- consumed stick as it fell from the fire and onto the hearth. He backed away as I brought the flaming end of my weapon close to his collar. I got up, suddenly calm with my first taste of power and advancing formally said, "Monsieur, I believe we may consider the incident closed?" He nodded stupidly and I left the room in a daze, still carrying the torch.  
  
It frightened one of the maids as she caught sight of the flaming brand in front of my pale face from the other end of the hallway; but I explained that at it had grown dark while I was in the library and I had taken the stick for a light. She had a candle and I compelled her to come with me to my room. Her name was Clémence, I remember her well. She was so warm that night. It comforted me to have her there by my side. I was cold as ice.  
  
It's years later now and I'm still cold. I left home two years after that incident at seventeen, a year older than most who are just leaving for the university. That was the year my little sister married. Her husband was the son of an old friend of my fathers - a boy I knew I could trust to care for her. I was only able to leave for Paris after she was far from his reach. I didn't like the way he was looking at her and didn't feel safe leaving her to go to university.  
  
It may seem strange, but I didn't have the same concern for my mother. My father had provided in his will that if my mother were to remarry she would not be able to give the money to her new husband but, that she would only have a life interest in the estate. I knew he would never harm her as long as she had control of her money. All he could do was cast her and my fathers low birth in her face. "After all," as he said, my father was "nothing more than a rich peasant who managed to make himself accepted into the local aristocracy by his wealth."  
  
Very well then M. de Courfeyrac, since the de is such an important part of your name I'd just as well be without it. My name is plain M. Courfeyrac if you please. Even if I can't bear my fathers name I can at least get rid of that odious little de you set such a store by.  
  
I'm shivering; the fire has started to die down. It's time for me to go home now, but I can't bring myself to leave even the remnants of warmth and venture out into the night alone. Here comes Maitelotte, I really must leave now, she'll wonder if I stay any longer.  
  
I get up reluctantly. It's hard to face the chill outside, slight as it is. I'll be back tomorrow, giving off lighthearted radiance for the rest of you. That is my gift for now. Perhaps someday I'll be able to find a warmth of my own; not this one that I can reflect from your faces but not warm myself with. Goodnight, I'll be home soon and near my own hearth.  
  
A/N: Luc means Bearer of Light. I liked the irony in that. Thank you to MusetteComeau on the LMFFI Forum for correcting my references to college to university. 


End file.
